“Pooh! pooh!” replied his Grace, “it is the very sense and cunning of this fellow which has so long maintained his reign—a mere Highland robber would have been put down in as many weeks as he has flourished years. His gang, without him, is no more to be dreaded as a permanent annoyance—it will no longer exist—than a wasp without its head, which may sting once perhaps, but is instantly crushed into annihilation.”

Garschattachin was not so easily silenced. “I am sure, my Lord Duke,” he replied, “I have no favour for Rob, and he as little for me, seeing he has twice cleaned out my ain byres, beside skaith amang my tenants; but, however—”

“But, however, Garschattachin,” said the Duke, with a smile of peculiar expression, “I fancy you think such a freedom may be pardoned in a friend’s friend, and Rob’s supposed to be no enemy to Major Galbraith’s friends over the water.”

“If it be so, my lord,” said Garschattachin, in the same tone of jocularity, “it’s no the warst thing I have heard of him. But I wish we heard some news from the clans, that we have waited for sae lang. I vow to God they’ll keep a Hielandman’s word wi’ us—I never kend them better—it’s ill drawing boots upon trews.”

“I cannot believe it,” said the Duke; “these gentlemen are known to be men of honour, and I must necessarily suppose they are to keep their appointment. Send out two more horsemen to look for our friends. We cannot, till their arrival, pretend to attack the pass where Captain Thornton has suffered himself to be surprised, and which, to my knowledge, ten men on foot might make good against a regiment of the best horse in Europe—Meanwhile let refreshments be given to the men.”

I had the benefit of this last order, the more necessary and acceptable, as I had tasted nothing since our hasty meal at Aberfoil the evening before. The vedettes who had been despatched, returned without tidings of the expected auxiliaries, and sunset was approaching, when a Highlander belonging to the clans whose co-operation was expected, appeared as the bearer of a letter, which he delivered to the Duke with a most profound congé.

“Now will I wad a hogshead of claret,” said Garschattachin, “that this is a message to tell us that these cursed Highlandmen, whom we have fetched here at the expense of so much plague and vexation, are going to draw off, and leave us to do our own business if we can.”

“It is even so, gentlemen,” said the Duke, reddening with indignation, after having perused the letter, which was written upon a very dirty scrap of paper, but most punctiliously addressed, “For the much- honoured hands of Ane High and Mighty Prince, the Duke, &c. &c. &c.” “Our allies,” continued the Duke, “have deserted us, gentlemen, and have made a separate peace with the enemy.”

“It’s just the fate of all alliances,” said Garschattachin; “the Dutch were gaun to serve us the same gate, if we had not got the start of them at Utrecht.”

“You are facetious, sir,” said the Duke, with a frown which showed how little he liked the pleasantry, “but our business is rather of a grave cast just now.—I suppose no gentleman would advise our attempting to penetrate farther into the country, unsupported either by friendly Highlanders or by infantry from Inversnaid?”

A general answer announced that the attempt would be perfect madness.

“Nor would there be great wisdom,” the Duke added, “in remaining exposed to a night-attack in this place. I therefore propose that we should retreat to the house of Duchray and that of Gartartan, and keep safe and sure watch and ward until morning. But before we separate, I will examine Rob Roy before you all, and make you sensible, by your own eyes and ears, of the extreme unfitness of leaving him space for further outrage.” He gave orders accordingly, and the prisoner was brought before him, his arms belted